


stay on my mind

by vulpexin



Category: A Pink (Band), EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, F/M, Idiots in Love, chenmi, exopink - Freeform, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpexin/pseuds/vulpexin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(When he left though, he took part of her heart away with him and she had been left with no lighthouse to guide her, nobody to tell her there was hope when the skies were dark and the waves were merciless and she was out of breath and drowning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay on my mind

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  crossposted to [AFF](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1162645/stay-on-my-mind-bomi-romance-chen-exopink-chenmi)  
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> \---
> 
>   
> loosely based on this prompt i found on tumblr (and i say loosely bc i don't even mention half of these things lmao): "we're texting for the first time in forever and i told you about some stupid thing i did and sent a sarcastic 'you must really miss me, huh' and you just replied with 'yes' and i think my heart just broke"
> 
> also inspired by jayesslee's cover of [officially missing you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3kX63qPr5M) by tamia
> 
> a/n: just as a warning, there _are_ ungraphic mentions of **abuse** and some time gaps. and i'm sorry for the shittiness ;-;

A drunk Bomi is a dramatic, emotionally compromised Bomi and is basically the cause of seventy-five percent of her problems.

 

Like the one she has right now.

 

Bomi wakes up with a massive hangover and the foreboding feeling that somehow, sometime yesterday, she managed to fuck something up. This clearly should have been enough of a sign to prove to her sleepy conscience that something was wrong. However, it’s only when she goes to check her phone—something she does every morning because _yes_ , she likes dragging out her time in bed for as long as possible as she checks her social media and the news—when she realizes what _exactly_ she did.

 

It doesn’t really sink in at first; she just glances at the text casually before making a mental note to respond later and moving onto the next conversation. And then, a sudden thought occurs to her.

 

She freezes. Quits out of the news app and clicks on KakaoTalk.

 

She holds her phone in her hand blankly for a couple seconds more, all while fighting down the urge to hurl it across her room in hopes that breaking her phone would miraculously unsend her message. Which, she unfortunately knows, is completely irrational so she decides to throw her phone _gently_ on her bed and scream into her pillow instead.

 

_2:13 AM_

**Bomi:** yah kim jjongdae u asshole why did u stop respondign to my texts years ago

**Bomi** : u promised that wee’d stay in otuch even when u go t famous

 

_2:20 AM_

**Bomi:** liar

 

_6:01 AM_

**Jongdae:** who is this??

 

She hates drunk Bomi. She didn’t even know that she still _had_ Jongdae’s number—clearly he didn’t have her’s. She supposes that becoming a famous idol also meant breaking ties with anything from his childhood. Usually, when she thought about Jongdae, or Chen, or whatever name he went by now, dull resentment would bubble up at how he forgot about her so easily (and maybe about how when they had auditioned together for SM, he had made it and she didn’t but the feeling when she thought about _that_ was more disappointment towards herself more than anything else). This time, she feels nothing but a hollowness in her chest.

 

It’s dumb, she knows, to have hoped that someone as successful as him would have bothered trying to keep in touch with her, a nobody, even if they had been close as children. It’s just that when she was younger, he was really all she had. And she supposes this nostalgia had forced its way to the front of drunk Bomi’s mind and that’s why she had sent the text after _years_ of no communication between them.

 

Her fingers hover over her phone’s keyboard and before she has time to regret anything, she types.

 

_10:45 AM_

**Bomi:** i’m so sorry about this

**Bomi:** just forget everything i said

**Bomi:** i was drunk

**Bomi:** and this is bomi by the way

 

 

 

 

 

“Bomi!”

 

Someone hurtles into her chest and Bomi staggers backwards, breaking out in laughter as she wraps her arms around the younger girl. She can already tell that people are staring but she’s learned to not care.

 

“Mina!” she responds just as enthusiastically back. “How have you been?”

 

Mina finally detaches herself from Bomi but loops her arm around Bomi’s arm a moment later. “Better.”

 

Bomi can’t help the affectionate smile that spreads across her face as she listens to the sophomore ramble on and on as they make their way to a restaurant to grab lunch; she really is glad though. Mina had been soft-spoken the first time Bomi had met her, too shy to reach out and defend herself and this coupled with her pretty appearance and fortunate background had earned her the reputation of being a snob.

 

Bomi had been the one to step in during a particularly nasty (and one-sided) verbal fight and after that incident, she had taken Mina under her wing in a sense. She had been the one who helped Mina break out of her shell; Bomi herself knew all too well the feeling of helplessness and powerlessness, of being hated for being, well, _herself_.

 

“I missed you though,” Mina says, voice growing softer. “Thank you for helping me when nobody else would.”

 

Bomi remembers the days when it was just a little girl and a little boy sneaking out after dark, remembers when his presence was enough to calm her down.

 

(When he left though, he took part of her heart away with him and she had been left with no lighthouse to guide her, nobody to tell her there was hope when the skies were dark and the waves were merciless and she was out of breath and drowning.)

 

Bomi nods, throat tight and hopes it’s enough.

 

Deep inside her bag, her phone dings.

 

_1:05 PM_

**Jongdae:** how are you?

 

 

 

 

 

_11:56 PM_

**Bomi:** why are u asking this now?

 

 

 

 

 

She’s in the middle of doing her homework like a good student when her phone buzzes with an incoming call.

 

Her stomach drops when she sees the name: Kim Jongdae. Part of her is telling her to ignore him but it’s muscle memory to just answer anytime he calls.

 

Hesitantly, she raises the phone to her ear.

 

There’s static and right when she’s about to hang up, his voice comes through, a bit deeper and raspier than she remembers.

 

“Bomi?”

 

There are a million ways she could respond and the one where she chews him out is looking like the most promising. But then her mind falters and her heart takes control and what comes out of her mouth is, “Are you okay?” instead of the passive aggressive “So _now_ you’re talking to me.”

 

If she listens carefully, she can hear other voices in the background, loud and cheerful. His breath hitches. “Yeah,” he says. “I just—I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry but I can’t tell you in person and doing it by text seemed too . . .” he trails off. “Insincere, I guess.”

 

She’d tell him to video chat her like he’d always do when they were younger but that seems too personal. She sighs instead. “It’s been a long time.”

 

“You changed your phone number,” he says.

 

Bomi looks down, shifting until her back hits the backboard of her bed. She draws her knees to her chest. Changing her phone number had been an impulsive decision, one fueled by the hurt and resentment she’d felt when she discovered that Jongdae had just packed up and _moved_ as soon as he got accepted without ever telling her. “I kept it for a few months,” she tells him. “You could have said something then.”

 

She can almost imagine him now, dragging a hand across his face as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. “You were so _sad_ after,” he says and even if he doesn’t outright say it, she still knows he’s talking about the gut wrenching feeling of when she found out she hadn’t made it past auditions. “I didn’t know what to say and I _needed_ to get away from my parents. And then I never figured out what to tell you and so much time passed and when I did try to text you, I was redirected to someone else.”

 

“Okay,” she says. “Is that it?”

 

He swallows audibly. The voices in the background grow louder. “Don’t be a stranger,” he finally says after a stretch of silence.

 

Bomi nearly snorts despite the warmness in her cheeks. “You’re the busy one. Not me.”

 

And then she hangs up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_7:28 PM_

**Jongdae** sent a picture.

**Jongdae:** it’s getter darker earlier

**Jongdae:** you’re a senior in university right?

**Jongdae:** i know you can take care of yourself but

**Jongdae:** stay safe

 

 

 

 

 

 

_3:45 AM_

**Jongdae:** baek almost adopted a dog last night

**Jongdae:** right before we had to go film something on t.v. too

**Jongdae:** good thing minseok was there

 

 

 

 

 

_4:57 PM_

**Jongdae:** reservoir is having a comeback soon

 

 

 

 

 

“My friend’s a fan, you know?” she says in lieu of a proper welcome.

 

Bomi puts the phone on speaker as she crosses the kitchen to open the fridge to look for some breakfast.

 

“Of Reservoir?”

 

She nods, forgetting that he couldn’t see her, and only manages to remember to verbally say yes when the silence stretches out for a bit too long. Mina really is a huge fan of Reservoir, the idol group Jongdae’s in. Reservoir consists of three people—Byun Baekhyun, Kim Minseok, and Jongdae—and while they are relatively well known, they found more success doing things solo than staying together. In fact, this is the first comeback they’ve had in a while as a group.

 

“Who is it?”

 

“A sophomore who goes to the same university as me,” Bomi says and bites back the urge to add a _you should meet her_.

 

He makes this noise of acknowledgement and neither of them talk for a while after that. There’s people talking in the background again and it serves as welcome white noise as Bomi grabs the ingredients for making fried eggs.

 

“I have—” Jongdae begins right when Bomi says, “You—”

 

He laughs, the sound warm and comforting. “You first.”

 

“Just . . . don’t overwork yourself okay? And make sure you stay healthy,” Bomi says in a rush.

 

“Alright,” he agrees readily.

 

“And if you need anybody, just call me.”

 

There’s a pause. “Okay,” he says, voice infinitely soft.

 

Bomi stares at the stove and wonders if she’ll burn the eggs. “You probably have to go, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Dance practice. I’ll call you later though?”

 

Her grip on her phone grows tight. “Okay.”

 

This time, when she hangs up, there’s this lightness in her chest.

 

 

 

 

 

They build up their friendship, or _whatever_ this is, in pieces just like that—messages scattered throughout the day, phone calls at ridiculous hours. It’s almost scary how easy it is for him to fit into Bomi’s life again.

 

Despite that, it’s not until near Christmas when they actually meet face to face again.

 

 

 

 

 

“Am I what?”

 

Bomi’s only half paying attention to Jongdae; most of her attention is, admittedly, on her laptop where she’s browsing a shoe catalog. Her phone is propped up on the left edge of her laptop.

 

Jongdae huffs and if she’d bother to look at her phone, she’d see him pouting. “Are you going to visit your family?” he repeats patiently.

 

“Oh.” The mouse stills and she finally focuses on him. “I don’t know . . . I haven’t talked to them in a long time.”

 

He looks nervous. “My parents called me yesterday. They wanted me to come home for Christmas.” 

“Oh.” She doesn’t really know what else to say.

 

“They sounded _happy_ , Bomi.”

 

She moves her phone so that it’s resting on the middle of her laptop screen. “That’s great, Jongdae.”

 

“I wanted to go,” he says, “but—”

 

He doesn’t say anything more after that but Bomi gets it. She shifts in her seat nervously. Takes a deep breath, then exhales. “Then let’s go,” she says. “Maybe it’s time that I meet up with my father anyways.”

 

 

 

 

 

It’s ridiculously early when they finally meet. She’s waiting for him in front of a closed cafè and trying her best to calm her nerves and not freeze to death. She wants him to arrive faster but when he finally does, it just makes her more nervous.

 

Reality sets in as he’s unhooking his face mask and adjusting his sunglasses. He’s a _celebrity_ , he’s famous and she’s just a girl from his childhood. It’s weird—suddenly he seems so untouchable. Talking to him through Kakaotalk and video chats is very different from seeing him in real life.

 

She holds her breath when he stops in front of her.

 

“Bomi?” he says tentatively.

 

“You’re dumb,” her mouth suddenly says before her mind registers what’s going on. “This whole idea was dumb. Let’s just go back.”

 

He laughs loudly, eyes crinkling and laugh lines appearing and suddenly he doesn’t seem so unapproachable at all.

 

 

 

 

 

They go to Jongdae’s first after wasting some time at a nearby playground. It feels a lot like their childhood—when they were younger, using the swings was their favorite pastime. It’s strange, thinking about how they had grown up together but it was really something made inevitable given the fact that they lived right across the street from one another. Bomi still remembers the unextraordinary way they met—through school—and the mundane way their friendship developed and their bond strengthened situations at home worsened.

 

He’s visibly trembling as they make their way to his parent’s house and before she can rethink anything, she slips her hand through his and squeezes.

 

Jongdae’s parents loved him but the same couldn’t be said for each other. He became an object of sorts in their eyes, something they could use as leverage over each other, someone who became just a way to win the argument between them. Being caught in the crossfire of his parents’ tension had torn him apart emotionally and mentally and Bomi had been the one to stay by him, the one who comforted him when it became too much.

 

“People change,” she says simply, despite the twist in the stomach as she thinks about her own parents.

 

“Right.” He takes a shuddering breath as his grip on her hand tightens and this time, she stops walking to face him just as they reach the doorstep.

 

She places her free hand on his shoulder, nails digging into his coat, and steps closer. From this distance, she can make out his features with a stunning clarity, can tell that this Jongdae standing in front of her isn’t Chen, or Thunder Boy, or whatever dumb name he has but _her_ Jongdae, the one who built her back up with gold when she shattered again and again. “I won’t let them break you,” she says fiercely.

 

Something passes through his eyes. “I know,” he responds without hesitation.

 

When he rings the doorbell, he doesn’t let go of her hand. Only a few seconds pass before the door opens.

 

Jongdae’s mom stands in front of them, mouth slightly parted in shock. A moment later, Jongdae’s dad comes rounding the corner and blinks when he sees his son.

 

Jongdae’s eyes dart between the two, especially as his dad moves closer and his mom glances back. There’s a soft, affectionate look to his mom’s eyes and his dad rests his hand on her waist when he’s close enough and—

 

Jongdae bites his lower lip hard. “Hi,” he breathes out. His eyes are suspiciously wet.

 

When he brings her with him past the door way of the threshold, his fingers are still tangled with her’s but noticeably looser and she thinks he’s going to be alright.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been hours since they’ve arrived and the sky is dark when the thought crosses Bomi’s mind. She glances at Jongdae and his parents contemplatively—they look _happy_ as they’re talking. Tentative, yes, but she can see that things have shifted and changed.

 

“Is it okay if I go out for a moment?” Bomi blurts out. All eyes are on her as his parents chorus their consent but none of the gazes are as piercing as Jongdae’s.

 

“To see your dad?” Jongdae asks.

 

“Yeah,” she says and tries to keep her voice nonchalant as she continues, “I’m just going to see how he’s been.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” he says firmly and she feels like dying a bit when his mom hides a smile behind her hand.

 

She shakes her head and gets up. “I need to do this alone. Just,” she pauses and glances at his parents. “I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

 

Bomi bows and takes her leave, heart in her throat and nails pressed tightly to her palms.

 

(Jongdae gets up anyways as soon as she’s out of sight.)

 

 

 

 

 

Bomi’s seated alone on a couch while her father and this _woman_ —apparently her father’s new wife. It’s horribly awkward but to her step-mother’s credit, she does try to break the tension.

 

“What are you majoring in?” her step-mother asks pleasantly, hands folded in her lap.

 

Bomi can’t quite look her father in the eye when she replies, “Music.”

 

“Music?” her father echoes. “I thought you gave that up when you failed the audition.” Disapproval threads his words and Bomi holds her breath nervously. “I thought you were going to go major in English, at the very least.”

 

“I got the scholarship because of music,” she says quietly and any faint hope of reconciliation dies.

 

He rubs his forehead agitatedly. Her step-mother is frozen. “What happened to all the money I sent you, then?”

 

_Untouched_. “I don’t use it,” Bomi says. “I wanted to be independent.”

 

“ _Goddamnit_.” He rises from his seat and Bomi flinches. “Is this really how I raised you? Ungrateful and self-centered and—”

 

_You didn’t raise me at all_ , Bomi wants to yell but she bites her tongue. Rises to her feet as well. “I’m leaving,” she says. Her heart is beating so loud that she can hear it in her ears and she focuses on the uneven rhythm as she turns to leave.

 

“Don’t turn your back on me,” her father snarls and grabs her wrist.

 

Some people change but some do not and this is made increasingly clear by the tightening grip on her wrist and _oh god, oh god,_ not again.

 

She can’t do this again. Her father was passive at best when her mom was still with him but once she ran away with a lover, someone who she wasn’t forced to be with simply because they had a child out of wedlock, he grew to be more aggressive physically and verbally.

 

She can’t breathe, throat stifled by the overwhelming fear that crashes down on her in waves and she just _knows_ her wrist is going to bruise. It’ll be like when she was young all over again and she had to hide her purpling skin and the red indents made from his fingernails from everyone but—

 

_Jongdae_.

 

“Let _go_ of me.” She doesn’t cry but her voice is strangled and everything is blurring in a kaleidoscope of colors. It’s purely instinct—one that arose when she started protecting others like Mina so they wouldn’t go through what she went through—that makes her raise her hand and slap her father across the cheek.

 

Her step-mother is still frozen. Her dad freezes. She yanks her hand out of his grip and doesn’t look back.

 

Bomi doesn’t even know where she’s going to go; the only thing she knows is that she _needs_ to get away but she’s blocked just when she leaves the house by something, some _one_ who feels familiar to the touch.

 

Hands slip around her waist. She buries her face in the crook of his neck just as the first tear slips. Something soft presses against her forehead and then she’s being led away.

 

 

 

 

 

The first thing Bomi registers when her mind starts defogging is that it’s cold. She left her coat in Jongdae’s parent’s house because she thought that—well, she’s not quite sure what she thought when she went to her father.

 

The second thing Bomi registers is Jongdae, his warmth, and the way his fingers gently brush against her aching wrist, reminiscent of the times he held an ice pack to her bruising skin so many years back.

 

“H-He didn’t,” she stammers as she leans closer to him for warmth or comfort or stability or all of the three. “I thought—” It takes a while for her to grasp all words and piece them together in a coherent thought. It comes out choked. “He keeps trying to drown me.”

 

“But he didn’t,” Jongdae says, a hint of satisfaction, pride, awe in his tone. “You didn’t let him.” The way he’s looking at her is almost reverent. “You’re the strongest person I know, Bomi.”

 

And suddenly, the frantic thudding of her chest is less about her father’s disapproval and more about the boy sitting next to her. She releases a breath she didn’t even know she had been holding. Rests her head on his shoulders and focuses on getting her breathing to be even again.

 

“You were there,” she starts slowly, “when I came out.”

 

He tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Soft laughter escapes her and she blinks away tears. “You’ve always felt more like home to me than my family ever did,” she confesses like it’s a new feeling, even though she’s subconsciously known this since what seems like an eternity.

 

He leans his head against her’s wordlessly in response and suddenly, it’s not so cold anymore.


End file.
